


I know sometimes it gets cold in there

by sapphire_child



Series: Season 12 Bits [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Destiel if you squint - Freeform, Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Gen, Gentle Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), Team Free Will, Worried Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9839951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: Cas nearly died but honestly, Sam is probably more worried about how Dean is coping in the aftermath. Sometimes you have to hold each other up in order to keep your own head above water.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because who doesn't want another coda fic about this ep ;) but seriously though, there's not many from Sam's POV and I figured it might be interesting to look at it from his perspective so...tada! Title is from "I Shall Not Walk Alone" by The Blind Boys of Alabama which - WHY has this song not been used in a sad montage in this damn show yet? Get it together CW.

Adrenaline is still buzzing under Sam’s skin when they get back to the bunker. Despite their combined exhaustion, the dragging nagging sense that a dark cloud is following them, is following Cas, it’s his brother that Sam watches like a hawk.

Dean, who insisted on driving home even though his face was pale and his hands trembled intermittently. Dean, who has barely said a word since they climbed into the car, and even fewer once they made it home.

There are few people who know Dean better than Sam does. They’ve spent years in each others pockets. Grudgingly at times. But generally they co-exist as a well-oiled team – travelling, working, living together. And Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for his brother to crack. To fold under the pressure. The weight of everything that’s just happened…

Sam watches. Dean tells Cas he should be the one to shower first. He hesitates by the liquor cabinet before fetching beer instead. They sit in silence in the library, Sam’s brows knitting as Dean stares at the bottle in his hand. He’s barely taken a half dozen sips before Cas returns.

He still looks like crap. The constant bags under his eyes seem darker and he’s moving slow and careful, like an old man. But his bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with a robe that he’s retrieved from who knows where – maybe it’s Dean’s dead guy robe. If it is, he makes no comment about it. Merely runs his eyes over Cas and then flicks them towards his brother. It’s a question. Sam is too tired to even gesture. He blinks, gives a small nod. Dean leaves to take his own turn in the showers and Cas takes his place at the table. Folds his hands in his lap and stares at the condensation sliding down the abandoned beer bottle in front of him.

Minutes tick by.

Sam clears his throat, and Cas looks up at him blearily, expectant. His eyebrows lift in a silent question and Sam should probably ask Cas how he’s feeling. But when he opens his mouth all that comes out is, “I’m worried about Dean.”

Cas’ eyebrows furrow immediately. “What do you mean?”

Sam realises he’s been picking absently at the label on his beer, like he’s worrying a healing scab. He makes himself stop. “You didn’t notice how messed up he was in the barn?”

Cas doesn’t quite flinch but he does pause, obviously uncomfortable. “I think we were all a bit messed up.”

“Some more than others.” Sam offers and Cas manages the tiniest of wan smiles in response. But now Sam kind of has to ask the question, irrespective of how worried he is about Dean. So he does. “How’re you feeling Cas?”

Cas gazes at him steadily. “Weak mainly. Tired. Like I got stabbed with something and almost died but then didn’t.” he pauses, almost shrugs. “I guess.”

“You know…” Sam begins, then falters to a stop. He glances down at the table then up through his lashes. “You know we love you too? Right? When we said you’re part of our family, that we weren’t gonna leave you behind – that’s what we meant.”

Cas continues to gaze at Sam, unnerving now in his steadiness. If he was human he would doubtless be wavering between emotions.

But if he was still just an angel, he wouldn’t have said he loved them to begin with.

When he does reply, it’s with a simple, “I’m starting to.”

“Good.” Sam says, nodding and even managing a bit of a smile. “That’s good.”

Cas sits there, serene and exhausted and alive and Sam still kind of wants to ask about Cas’ phrasing – whether he meant ‘you’ as a singular or as the plural before he’d amended his own words (I love _all_ of you) – but it’s also a can of worms he’s reticent to touch. He’s watched the angel and his brother dance around each other for years but until tonight he’s never seen Cas so openly vulnerable before and judging by Dean’s reaction, he probably hasn’t either.

Besides, he’s still covered in the sweat and stink of the hunt, of the road and he’s finished his beer by now so maybe Dean went straight to bed and just crashed after his shower. There’s no way he’s still in there. Though it’s weird he didn’t come out to retrieve his beer or say goodnight.

Sam’s about to check in with Cas again, make his excuses so he can head to the showers and kick Dean out if necessary when there is a short, sharp noise. Not the higher pitch of a human voice, something duller. Like furniture breaking. A body impacting against a hard surface. Sounds they are intimately, unfortunately familiar with. They barely even have to share a glance before Sam is reaching for the gun in his waistband and he and Cas are tearing into the hallways in search of Dean.

 

 

He’s not exactly hard to find. They simply follow the noise and find themselves outside the shower room. The door is locked but Sam still has enough weight behind him to pop it open with his shoulder. Dean is (thankfully) still clothed and he’s not in the shower – the water isn’t even running and he’s swinging punches and kicks at anything he can aim at.

Sam doesn’t even hesitate, merely tucks his gun away and puts his hands up, stepping forward to placate his brother.

“Dean,” he begins, voice soft. Dean whips around mid-kick to face him. His face is dark, purpling. He snarls. Sam refuses to step back but it’s a near thing. When Dean starts kicking and punching at furniture like this, he becomes more frightening and more dangerous than their dad had ever been – not only to himself but to those around him. Usually when he gets this bad Sam just lets him break whatever he needs to sort himself out and then they deal with it later.

This time, he’s pretty sure he knows what Dean’s problem is. Instinctively he tries to shield Cas.

“Get out!” Dean snaps. He faces off with his brother and Sam’s eyes flicker to take in the damage to the room. The smashed mirror. The broken wall tiles. The blood dripping from Dean’s clenched right hand.

His eyes fall, unbidden, on the metal chair in the corner. They use it to hold towels, or to sit on while they patch up injuries. But right now it’s been kicked over and its contents spilled across the floor.

Cas’ bloodied clothes. Wrecked.

Yeah, Sam knows pretty much exactly what’s going on here.

“Dean,” He tries again, soothing as he moves towards his brother. Dean’s chest is heaving, he looks positively murderous. His hands clench and unclench spasmodically as his eyes track Sam’s movements.

He’s expecting to be swung at. Easily blocks the first few punches using his height as his advantage. When he gets clobbered in the side by a fist though, he isn’t prepared. It takes him almost a minute to subdue his brother (he won’t hit him but he can use his size to his advantage) wrapping him from behind and holding his arms down. Dean struggles and rages but he’s so exhausted that his body is barely able to function, let alone fight. Cas, who had been hanging back, finally steps forward and Sam realises that he’s been chanting his brother’s name this whole time. A quiet, urgent litany.

“Dean.” Cas says and his voice is tired but clear and he reaches out and grasps Dean’s face between his hands. “Dean. _Stop_.”

And he does. He sags in Sam’s arms, who struggles to keep his brother upright and then gives up entirely and instead just helps Dean fold himself down onto the floor. All the fight is gone out of him now, his head hanging low with exhaustion and shame as Sam helps him lean up against the wall. The room is littered with the evidence of his rage, his pain, expressed in one of the few ways that he feels he can. Not for the first time, Sam feels a surge of anger and pity for the circumstances that led to his brother becoming this way. For a man who feels so deeply, to not be able to express himself adequately…whether through words or deeds.

Sam knows how deep his brother loves. Knows how he guards his pain like a dragon with its hoard. He _knows_ how Dean feels the sting of rejection - so keenly. That when he passes his own judgement and anger onto others sometimes it just burns and burns until he’s all used up like a melted down candle.

Cas kneels in front of Dean, face pinched, and uses both of his hands to pick up his bloodied right hand. Dean doesn’t even look up as Cas gently pries open his fist and gently retrieves his blue striped tie. Sam’s mouth might fall open at that, but he manages to school his face as Cas flings the tie away and then places careful hands on Dean’s ankles.

“I’m here.” Cas says. “So whatever you’re feeling. Let it out. But please – don’t hurt yourself.”

Dean’s face works, screws itself up and he takes a half-hearted swing accompanied by a, “Screw you!” The blow glances off Cas’ chin but he just calmly takes the fist out of the air and holds it between his hands and squeezes hard.

“Dean.” He admonishes.

The man in question looks up, eyes red rimmed and only for Cas. Abruptly, Sam feels like an intruder. He shies back, ready to leave but uncertain as to whether he should.

“You don’t get it Cas.” Dean says. “You can’t…y-you…” he cuts himself off, eyes flickering upwards and he’s gritting his teeth so hard they’re creaking. _Jesus_ , Sam realises, _he’s trying to stop himself from crying_.

“Dean, I’m still here.” Cas says again, still squeezing Dean’s hand in a death grip between his own. “Sam is here. We’re safe.”

“Yeah for now!” Dean babbles and his jaw is still tight and his eyes are on the ceiling, head thrown back against the wall. His tears begin falling, unbidden. “What if this is just the beginning huh? What if cosmic payback means the universe keeps tryna kill you? Or worse? I can’t watch you die again Cas. I barely…I couldn’t…” he sucks in a gasp of air and his body shudders with repressed sobs. Dean turns his face even further away. Humiliated.

“Dean. Look at me.”

He does. Grudgingly, but he does. Sam slowly gets to his feet and they begin to walk him backwards, towards the doorway.

“I will never leave you by my own choice.” Cas promises. “Death may yet take me. Miles and multiverses may one day separate us for good. But I choose to be here. I choose this. Always.” Cas looks directly at Sam. “I choose you both.”

And finally, Dean looks like some of the tension is easing. The exhaustion has hit him, like a brick wall to the face. He’s not okay yet, not by a long shot, but he’s at least tired himself out enough he’ll live to parse through his feelings another day.

His face is still streaming with tears as Cas gently places his hand down and then scoots over so he’s leaning against the wall next to him. Sam moves as if to leave but when Dean raises a hand feebly in his direction he stops immediately.

“Sam?” Dean says weakly, and that’s all he needs to hear before he’s joining them against the wall.

The tiles are shockingly cold on his back and ass, even through his clothes. To his surprise, Dean immediately leans against his shoulder. After a moment, he offers a quiet, “Man, you reek dude.”

Sam jostles him, but gently. “Somebody’s kinda been hogging the showers.”

Dean gives a sigh that could have been a laugh if he’d had more energy. “Sorry I smashed the place up. I’ll fix it.”

“We’ll help.” Cas offers quietly. Sam pretends not to notice Dean’s hand reaching over to squeeze Cas’ bare knee. It lingers there, as do the three of them.

They’re broken in more ways than they can count, but the three of them are still alive – to fight another day.

In a lot of ways, it’s more than they could have ever hoped for.


End file.
